Frustration
by clandestine.masquerade
Summary: Steve Rogers has a lot of pent up sexual frustration from years on ice. It's time that it is resolved. No slash.
1. Chapter 1

FRUSTRATION.

Part One: Confessing to Oneself is Nearly Always the Hardest Part. Nearly.

His apartment was small, dark, and empty, but it was clean so he liked it well enough. It wasn't a home by any stretch of the imagination, but then again nothing around here was. Nothing from this time, at least. He had grown up in Brooklyn, but a lot had changed since the 40's when he was last there. Everything was just strange and futuristic enough that he was constantly on edge, even though he had been sure to rent in the oldest apartment building he could find. Even though the situation wasn't preferable, he had made the best of it and it was still a hell of a lot better than the barracks he had been assigned in Italy during the war.

If there was ever a time that he felt comfortable, or even at home, in this place, it was after he came trudging in, his leather jacket still tight around his broad shoulders. He had just returned from escorting Thor and Loki with the Tesseract and it was the first time in far too long that he had been alone and not terrified of the end of the human race.

He sighed heavily as he walked in the door and stripped off his jacket, placing on the hook he had nailed by the door. He flicked the light on and watched it flicker, the yellow light illuminating the living room and small kitchen, complete with an oven with grime on it that even he couldn't scrub off. It had bothered him just a few days ago, before he had been called in to work, but that small worry had faded. Now, he was simply overwhelmed by all that had happened.

The Hellicarrier. New York's near-destruction. The Avengers – Tony, Bruce, Natasha, Clint and Thor. And the Tesseract. It had all happened. He had been part of it. And now… it was over. Or so he hoped. He could never be sure. After all, he thought he had buried the Tesseract in the ocean seventy years ago.

Seventy years.

He had been frozen, sleeping, unable to move or die, for seventy years.

It was torture.

The memory of the unbearable need to move, move anything, made him twitch and leap to his feet. He may be one of earth's mightiest heroes, but there were some things that still got to his soft underbelly. Like the thought of the ice, or Peggy.

He knew that he couldn't have changed anything, but he still felt he failed her. He had promised to take her out dancing. That would never happen now, though. If she wasn't dead, she was over ninety years old, and probably living somewhere in Britain where she had been raised. The likelihood of him ever seeing her again was nearly zero, and he was too afraid to ask anyone about her again. He never seemed to get a straight answer and after enough of that, he figured he probably didn't want to here the answer.

Anyway, his 'death' had probably not been traumatizing for her in any way. They had barely known each other, really. They hadn't even been on a date. He had known for a while now that she had moved on, somehow. She probably got married and had children; grandchildren. Even great-grandchildren. If she ever thought of him, it would have been in passing and even then, it would only be because he was part of the war effort with her. Logically, it would be absurd for him to assume she had some great, everlasting love for him that transcended the decades they were apart.

But God, did he love her. All that time, trapped in the ice, and almost all he thought about was Peggy. Taking her out dancing, his hand on her waist, and leaning in to kiss her. He still wanted to smudge that red lipstick, maybe ruffle her pin-curled hair a bit. He was a man still, even after his transformation into Captain America, even after years on ice. He wanted passion and love and he wanted it with her. Always with her.

That wasn't to say he was impervious to women's charms. There were many beautiful women that he had been tempted by. He saw gorgeous long legs walking down the street. He could smell the scent of a woman's perfume. Long hair that glistened in the light as it was flipped over the shoulder. Soft, welcoming eyes luring him in under thick, dark lashes. Full lips, round hips, soft breasts in a lacy bra that just peaked out from under a slinky black dress. Femme fatale. Every woman was.

Just because he was a 'Capsicle' for a few years and he was in love with a woman that didn't love him in return didn't mean it was easy to resist. To be perfectly honest, it was difficult to take his mind off of it. Sex, that is. He had never had sex with anyone before and it was starting to take a toll on his concentration. Not that he would act on it. He had never been the type to use a woman. It wasn't his style. No, there was no escaping this new force that left him immobile.

He was suddenly angry with himself. He was reduced to this! Fantasizing about women's bodies, lusting after pretty girls at bars – he had sunk so low. What had happened to True Love and Waiting for Marriage? Wasn't that his theme song back in the day? And yet here he was. Stronger than any normal man, a hero and an Avenger - he could defeat nearly any force thrown his way. But this, his own body, was turning against him. He threw a hand down on the counter he had meandered over too and immediately regretted the action as he left the old linoleum crack beneath his hand.

He smiled. Hell, even if he did get a woman, he would probably hurt her, and he would definitely never be able to live that down.

With a deep breath he finally calmed down. He wished alcohol would affect him. He needed a way to get out of these thoughts, or at least to deal with them.

But why did he need to deal with them?

Tony surely didn't. Playboy, that's what he described himself as. He may not be up on the times, but he knew what Playboy was. And anyway, Tony was well known for his charms and his way with women. He had probably slept with hundreds of them.

Steve had a sudden thought. What if he called in a favor with the Tin Man?


	2. Chapter 2

Part Two: Confessing to Tony Stark is Undoubtedly Harder

The conversation was awkward to say the least. Or, it was as awkward as it could be considering nothing could truly be awkward with Tony in the conversation unless Tony wanted it to be. Thankfully, this was one of the rare times that Tony took pity on him.

While he and Tony had bickered and fought several times, there was a mutual understanding between them that if either ever needed a favor the other would oblige. That wasn't to say that Steve particularly trusted or relied on Tony, or that Tony was his first choice as far as 'friends' go. In fact, in any other circumstance Steve was nearly positive he would never ask Tony first. But Steve wasn't thick. He knew Tony had a way with women and access to plenty of the most beautiful dames in the world. While he would appreciate less Stark in his life for once, he couldn't deny that Tony would be the best wingman out of the limited people he had phone numbers for.

In any case, Steve was growing to trust Tony. After all, he had laid his life on the line for all of them by taking care of that bomb. He had fought just as valiantly as the rest of them, and perhaps more so. He was a good partner, even with the sarcasm. Yes, he had started to trust the Tin Man.

In fact, there was a small part of him that thought of Tony as a ghost of Bucky. Not that Bucky was anything like Tony, other than the womanizing and the bravery. Still, that was enough. Bucky knew how to charm a woman and so did Tony, and both would lay their life on the line for others, so maybe there was more of a similarity hidden deep – very deep – inside of his fellow Avenger. Or maybe not.

Steve arrived at Stark Tower when they agreed to meet. J.A.R.V.I.S. greeted him as he walked through the lobby and toward the elevator nervously. He had enough sense to realize that Tony was not going to make this as easy for him as he indicated on the phone. He squared his shoulders before he stepped out on the top floor into the Stark Loft.

Tony was already sitting at the bar with a tumbler of dark, rich-colored alcohol in his hand. And there, sitting beside him, was Natasha.

"Mr. Stark. Ma'am." he greeted as he strode up to them. He gazed at Natasha in curiosity. What was she doing there?

"Cap'n," Tony answered, quirking his glass, "I brought you a test subject."

Steve furrowed his brow in annoyance. So that was why Natasha was there! "Test subject for what?"

"Social interaction, which you seem to be so sorely lacking. I can't unleash you on the women of Manhattan before I know you won't send them running. Luckily, Spider Bites here is impervious to fear." Tony nodded at Natasha snidely. She shot him a venomous glare. Steve had no doubt as to why she was called Black Widow.

The plan was a decent on except for one thing: Steve was terrified of Natasha. She was lethal and she could take him out if she needed to. All she needed to do is do one of her signature flips and wrap her legs around his neck, then squeeze. He didn't really enjoy thinking about being choked by Natasha. Not only that, but she seemed not only impervious to fear, but emotion in general. The only person she would speak normally to was Clint and that seemed to be a special exception for her. As far as practicing flirtation, Natasha Romanov would probably scare him to death before he could come up with a single intelligible thing to say.

He was also cautious of her simply because of her name. Black widow spiders were one of the creatures that fascinated him when he was little, so he knew their habits. Steve didn't particularly like the idea of being eaten alive during sex. Not that he would have sex with Natasha! Still, he had a flash of being a spider caught in her web.

She seemed to see the fear in his eyes and smiled dangerously. "Don't worry. I rarely bite."

Rarely?

He gave Tony a doubtful look, but Tony was too busy pouring himself more scotch. Steve felt a pang of jealousy. It would probably help him to be a little tipsy, but alcohol no longer affected him. He shook his head. "How much did he pay you to do this?"

She gave him a sly smile. "Not much." She shifted her body, swirling her red straw around in her glass.

Steve nodded, looking her over before he realized what he was doing. His face warmed and reddened and he averted his eyes. Tony was smirking at him; he could see it from the corner of his eye. But it didn't change that he had eyed her. He noticed things, too. Like how she was wearing a dress, and actual dress, rather than her usual suit, and how she had pinned back her hair with a small clip. Her shoes were tall heels, taller than any he could remember seeing, and they shined in the light. Natasha, as frightening as she was, was an attractive woman… but that made her all the more horrifying.

He swallowed roughly and his throat felt like it was closed. He could not talk to women and he especially could not talk to beautiful women. It didn't matter than he was now tall, broad-shouldered and muscled. At heart, he was still the 90 pound asthmatic that was unfit for duty in the army or as a dancing partner. He was the one that let guys like Tony or Bucky get the girl.

What was he thinking?

Then, that strange anger overcame him again. This time, he wanted the girl. Maybe not Natasha – she was still terrifying – but a woman comparable to her. Someone beautiful and witty and kind hearted. Why did he have to cower while his 'wingmen' got all of the dances and the kisses?

His blush faded quickly. He thought back to all of his fantasies of asking girls to do the jitterbug with him. "Ma'am," he would say strongly, holding out his hand. She would look at him and see how handsome and polite he was and smile at him. "Would you like to dance?" Her smile would widen as she took his hand. He led her to the dance floor. That was where it stopped.

All he had to do was say exactly that. Walk up to Natasha, present a hand and ask her to dance with him. That was it. They could dance and laugh together along to some jazz music and they could talk later, after the dancing had died down and everyone was drunk.

That's it. He took a deep breath and walked up to the bar beside Natasha.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three: And He Thought Natasha Was Scary…

Considering his test run with Natasha had not gone very well (he started stuttering before he could even ask her to dance, and when he did she turned him down, instead asking for a round of vodka shots), taking another swing at wooing gals did not seem like a good choice for the next step. However, Tony seemed to be of the mindset of pushing the baby bird out of the nest to make it fly, so he had consented.

Honestly, Steve was rather impressed with himself that he survived a night of trying to _flirt_ with Natasha. His only guess was that the super serum had prevented him from having a heart attack. In any case, that event was over and Tony had deemed him 'fit for human company' and told him to show up, once more, the following week at Stark Tower.

Always the military man, he showed up ten minutes early. He arrived at Tony's private floor again to see the rest of the team assembled once more, this time in civilian clothes. Even Thor was there, as he had promised before he escorted Loki back to Asgard for his punishment.

"And here's Casanova now!" Tony called. Everyone shot his questioning looks, except for Natasha, who was examining the Chrysler Building through the window. Steve glared. The team seemed more distracted by the glare, though, than the new nickname. "Stevie Wonder here is gonna get _laid_."

That got people's attention. Clint started hooting with laughter, nearly spilling his drink on his shirt. Bruce shook his head at Tony, much like an exasperated mother. Thor simply looked confused and asked, "What is this 'laid' of which you speak?"

Steve turned bright red. "I do not want to 'get laid'. I want a dancing partner."

"That you can – and I quote – 'fondue with' if the situation arouse." Steve did a double take and wondered how on Earth Tony could have ever known about 'fondue'.

"Cheese and bread?" Clint choked out between fits of laughter. The man was literally doubled over.

"Exactly!" Steve exclaimed, though his face was growing even redder.

"Oh, I know exactly what fondue means," Tony grinned. His smile reminded Steve of the Cheshire cat.

Steve brushed off the conversation and walked over to the bar. He couldn't get drunk but he could certainly try. As he sat there, everyone continued talking about various missions and ideas for training, except for Thor. He sat down next to Steve.

Steve liked Thor. In a way, Thor was similar to him. Both of them were shocked by a culture that seemed totally different from their own. Also, Steve felt much more confident in his knowledge than Thor, who knew nothing at all. At least Steve knew what Jell-O and telephones were. It was comforting that at least he wasn't the least informed of the group.

Thor had in his hand a pint of foaming beer, which he slammed down on the table beside Steve's elbow. "Friend, you wish to bed a maiden and I wish to help you."

Steve's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Excuse me?"

"A boy has not reached true manhood until he has taken his first woman. I myself have had several. It was necessary before I was crowned King of Asgard. And soon, I will bed my first human woman, the lovely Jane." Thor's eyes lit up at the thought of his girlfriend. Steve wondered how on Earth _that_ relationship started but he ignored his curiosity in favor of a more pressing question.

"So, you want to help me sleep with a woman?" Steve parroted back incredulously.

"It is necessary for your manhood to be real and true."

"I'm twenty-four."

"Exactly, Steve of Brooklyn! You must bed a woman now or be shamed before your human peers."

Steve hunched his shoulders and poured some liquor, praying that it would work just one time.

"Who here is ready to hit the clubs!" Tony called above the various conversations. For once, Steve was thankful for Tony's ability to draw everyone's attention. He certainly didn't need to hear Thor harp on about how emasculated Steve would be if he couldn't seduce a woman or how he planned to sleep with his own beautiful, smart girlfriend. He took one last drink before hopping off of the stool and leading the way to the elevator.

It didn't take too long to reach the club. Steve had no idea before, but Tony apparently owned one of his own. Everything was set up to reflect exactly Tony's taste and to completely repel Steve. Tony's club entrepreneurship was the least surprising part, though.

Even for his own time, Steve was considered to have old-fashioned sensibilities. _This_ looked like some warped version of Howard Stark's Expo that he had visited every year for Bucky back in the day. Everything was chic and hard looking, with lights flashing and pounding dance music amplifying the effect. Steve could hardly recognize the beat as music either but maybe he was just being an old geezer. After all, even Thor seemed to be picking up on the music quickly. He was already roaring for a round of drinks.

Steve stood along the sidelines, taking the drink offered to him by Thor as he passed by pushing drinks in everyone's hands, and once again prayed that alcohol would take an effect just once.

He felt hopeless all of a sudden. If he was too shell-shocked by the _venue_, how was he supposed to interact with actual human beings, especially such an intimate interaction as sex? It was enough to give him a headache… or perhaps that was the music and the black lights flashing in the room.

He watched his teammates, who had already forgotten him, dancing with strangers easily, like they did it all of the time. The probably did. Even Banner was putting in an effort, bopping his head slightly off time and shuffling closer to the knot of people forming around Tony on the dance floor.

As inadequate and inept as he felt, he simply couldn't bring himself to step up and ask any of the women to dance. They were all standing in gaggles and he was quickly realizing that dancing had changed a lot since he had last been out on the town. For one, he was fairly certain that women used to face the men, not have their backs to them. For another, he didn't quite remember how much friction was involved. He shuddered in embarrassment. He should have known this would happen. Not a single thing that he wanted to do ended up being what he remembered it being, so why would this be the same? How could he fool himself into thinking that dancing wouldn't change over seventy years time?

Another wave of mysterious anger washed over him. Why couldn't he handle this? He had been trained to accept even the worst culture shock in the army, just in case he was stationed somewhere really foreign to him. How was this any different? Sure, it was technically New York, but the culture was not the same, so he should treat it like Hong Kong or New Delhi, shouldn't he? He was trained for this! He bit his lip furiously, preparing himself to just dive into the damn crowd.

And how different was it really? Everyone spoke the same language as him and these were all still people his age, looking for a good time just like in the 40's. The essentials were still there, and even little details. Everyone was still drinking, there was thick smoke hanging in the air from all of the cigarettes and cigars, and it simply felt like a party. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend he was in the Stork Club, waiting for Peggy.

He felt a burst of adrenaline and courage. Finally, he reached up and ruffled his hair, leaving in disheveled, and marched himself into the midst of the party.


	4. Chapter 4

Part Four: There Are Rewards for Biting the Bullet

Walking into the crowd, trying to push toward the group of people he recognized, was all it took. By the time he had reached Clint, Natasha and Thor, who were all bundled together in a small island of innocent shuffle-dancing, he had women swarming around him. He had even felt a few tugs on his arms and belt loops.

He felt exhilarated suddenly, like he had jumped off a building and simply flown instead of hitting the pavement. Maybe Tony's baby bird method had worked. Steve was grinning as he nodded at his teammates. They all looked surprised that he had suddenly joined the fun.

"Hey Cap, how's the search going so far?" Natasha gave a rare half smile, leaning into Clint's side as she sipped a drink in her hand.

Clint was staring upward. "What happened to your hair?"

Steve simply laughed. "I guess it's about time I had some fun. Hell, I haven't felt this good since I got my first motorcycle!"

"Did he just say 'hell'?"

Tony stumbled up behind Steve "Oi! Spider Bites! Thunderbolt! Robin Hood! Step aside. I have a lovely young lady who is very interested in meeting the American Dream."

Steve blinked in surprise and Tony pulled a beautiful woman by the wrist. She was already smiling at him coyly from under her dark bangs. "Hey, I'm Gemma."

All of the sudden, that rush of cockiness drained from Steve. He once again felt tongue tied and stupid, but he stuck out his hand anyway. "I'm Steve. It's nice to meet you, ma'am." She was _really_ pretty. Her hair gleamed in the flashing lights and the curve of her breast made her look very soft and feminine. She was also fairly tall, though he was certain she was wearing tall heels with her fairly modest dress. She was wearing dark red lipstick, the shade that reminded him of Peggy. His heart was in his throat and he croaked. It couldn't be heard over the music, but he blushed from embarrassment anyway.

"Would you like to dance?" she asked boldly, kindly overlooking how awkward he had become.

"S-sure…"

She grabbed him hand and started moving to the beat, her body close to his.

His brain seemed to freeze. The beautiful woman was dancing with him. He had managed to actually _dance_ with a woman. And not only that, but she was biting her lip and every once in a while, her breasts would brush against his chest and his heart would skip a beat. At one point, she pulled him closer so their bodies were pressed together firmly. He lost his breath then.

After a while, though, he felt comfortable with the arrangement. Sure, she was gyrating her hips into his and her hands would sometimes wander over his chest and arms, but overall it was something he could handle. He even came to enjoy the mindless movement and heat. If he just didn't think about what he was doing, it was easy and it came almost naturally.

He didn't realize how much time had passed until Gemma leaned up and whispered in his ear, "Will you come back to my apartment with me?"

He pulled back to look into her eyes. She was looking though slightly drooped eyelashes at him, biting her lip again. Gemma was a siren, no doubt. But this was what he came for, so he nodded.

If he were a normal human being, he would be shivering in the cool night air after the steamy interior of the club. Instead, he was simply standing there, Gemma's hand clasped with his, as she called a taxi. Time seemed to slow down then as his mind scrambled to keep up with his body. It was late, really late, and it was drizzling a bit, enough to wet the pavement and his hair. The streets were loud, just as loud as during the day, with people walking by on their way to and from the clubs and restaurants that lined the street in this area. Taxis were recklessly swerving to and fro and there were horns honking occasionally. He soaked in the pure exhilaration of the city as she pulled him down into the cab.

The moment he fell into the seat, she reached behind him and slammed the door. The taxi took off. His heart skipped a beat. He was well and truly trapped in this small space, with this beautiful woman who was suddenly nuzzling his neck and nipping his ear in a way that had him reeling. So that was what it was like…

Her lips moved swiftly to his own mouth and she kissed him heatedly. His own lips moved in response. He gasped and she pressed against his body again. He was tense. Once again, he had left his brain behind and it was desperately trying to catch up. He couldn't think about anything other than the feeling of her thighs held against his pant leg and the slippery wet surface of her tongue begging to enter his mouth.

It occurred to him that Gemma, this somewhat anonymous girl he had just picked up at Stark's nightclub, was very experienced. Her movements were precise and practiced, perfectly passionate without being sloppy or too refined. Every movement seemed to be designed to reel him in further. He felt –

The cab screeched to a halt. They broke apart long enough for him to pay the faire and scrambled out of the back seat. Then, as if by magic, they were in her apartment, sprawled across the surprisingly expensive looking leather couch.

She pushed him back, so he was looking up at her as she straddled his hips. Her nimble fingers worked on each of the buttons of his shirt as she rubbed against him. Her eyes were cloudy, her skin was flushed, and she was biting her lips. It occurred to him that that expression was what lust must look like. He groaned, much to his embarrassment, as she roughly pulled his shirt away and rubbed her hands over his chest in awe.

Gemma, mystery seductress extraordinaire, liked the super-soldier, the body that wasn't his and never would be. The own he was given through chemicals injected into his own asthmatic, skeletal body. He felt like cold water had been poured over him.

Then, she purred and groaned and stripped her dress from her body and he was _thoroughly_ distracted. Her hand worked lower and lower as she went back to kissing him until suddenly, she was unbuckling his belt. That's when his mind finally caught up.

He choked and shot up, accidently throwing her off of him and onto the floor. She cried in indignation and confusion, but he was already on his feet in full panic mode.

He had been _so wrong_ before. He didn't want this. He didn't want to hook up with some random woman from a bar, with a tattoo of a quote under her breast and a piercing through her belly button. Her tattoo said 'we're not in Kansas anymore". He got that reference and he felt sick to his stomach because of it. He wondered why on Earth anyone would have that tattooed onto their bodies… he knew nothing about her.

She didn't know anything about him but his name and that he knew Tony Stark. He didn't know anything about her other than that she had very expensive, futuristic furniture and a mysterious tattoo. Having sex with her would mean nothing at all. He wasn't quite willing to throw away his morals and his purity for sex with a strange woman who was now _clearly_ not his type anyway, even with a tattoo of a line from a movie he actually knew.

The he felt sick to his stomach. She was hissing something at him angrily and pointing to the door, but he was already on his way. What had he turned into? Hadn't he once promised Erskine that he wouldn't change because of the serum? What he was doing, what he had planned to do, was not something that he would have done before. He would have waited for the right girl, someone smart and confident and independent, who liked art and didn't mind going to baseball games with him and who would understand that he was not like anyone else and try to understand it. Then he would have dated her, married her, and on their wedding night they would consummate their love. Not this. Never this. He hadn't even considered this until very recently.

He hailed a cab and clambered in, giving his address. On the way back, he clenched his hands so hard that he broke three fingers and cut deep crescent marks into his palms. He didn't care. They would heal in a couple days anyway.


End file.
